“We’re used to bacon, sausage, and ham,” Bokaj added.
Sami’s fork fell out of her hand clanking onto her plate. Oh no, she thought, here we go. Mikki, who was sitting on her shoulder grooming herself, even covered her ears.
“Oh, really,” Mary took in a long breath, “so you’d have us act like barbarians, slaughtering innocent animals that were here on this planet long before any of us, human or Incantors, just to satisfy your craving for a little bacon? Haven’t you read Charlotte’s Web or if you prefer a more documentarian view, COWSPIRACY: The Sustainability Secret, a film from the incomparable Leonardo DiCaprio? Then you might understand more about the impact of animal agriculture on the environment, and the policies of environmental organizations on this issue. You might also more fully appreciate the environmental concerns, including global warming, water use, deforestation, and ocean dead zones, and realize that animal agriculture is the primary source of environmental destruction.”
She was panting now and her eyes were open wide.
“Oh boy,” Wilmot whispered as she paused.
“All so you can have a little meat cut and fried with your eggs for breakfast.”
The pause hung in the air as the two men considered her diatribe.
“Actually, I’ll have some more broccoli,” Bekkan raised a single finger.
“Me too,” Bokaj held up his plate.
When Mary smiled and turned toward the pot-bellied stove to get them some, Sami said, “You know you don’t have to eat the broccoli, right?”
“It is quite alright,” Bekkan swallowed.
“When in Rome,” Bokaj added.
“Besides, we have a long day ahead of us with Wilmot to learn what he has found from his study of the artifact.”
“The violin?” Sami asked, “Matilde?”
The White Cloaks exchanged a look.
“We do not know what a violin is, nor do we know who Matilde is, but we expect that you are referring to the artifact?”
Sami nodded, “yes, the artifact is shaped like a human instrument called a violin. And dad calls it Matilde. It’s only his thing. None of the rest of us call it that.”
“I do,” RayRay said between bites of broccoli.
Bekkan looked at RayRay, “And you have been working with it as well?”
RayRay stopped as if he’d been caught stealing a treat from the cookie jar.
“I play it, if that’s what you mean.”
“Then you should join us for our discussion with your father.”
RayRay beamed. Sami almost told him about the dark green bits of vegetable in his teeth, but she didn’t.
“I would enjoy that very much.”
“Well, y’all enjoy that,” Sami wiped her mouth and stood.
She carried her plate to the sink, rinsed it and laid it in a wooden rack to dry. She grabbed her backpack and unzipped the top. Mikki jumped down from her shoulders, tucked herself into the bag and pulled the zipper almost all the way closed.
“Me and Mikki got an errand to run down the street.”
Sami wasn’t sure how far she’d have to drive for a few Milky Ways and some Dr. Pepper, but she figured Mikki deserved it.
“You be careful, hun.” Mary returned to the table with a huge bowl of broccoli.
Bekkan swallowed hard and Bokaj almost groaned out loud. Both of them shoveled some of the green veggies onto their plates.
Sami laughed and walked out the door.
Wilmot and the two White Cloaks invited RayRay to stay in the room with them while they discussed the Incantor artifact. Though it was a powerful tool designed for use by a magic wielder, it seemed to RayRay that it had been having some kind of effect on the humans he’d played for as well. Listeners reported that his songs made them feel young again, filling their minds with memories of happy times. But it wasn’t just that. Most left his performances struck by the certain feeling that years had been erased from their bodies...physically. RayRay knew it made him feel amazing when he played it, but he had assumed that it made any musician feel good to be playing or performing.
Wilmot had taken to calling it Matilde, because in some odd ways, it almost seemed alive, especially when RayRay played it. Solarian Elves, sometimes referred to as Light Elves in human references, have the gift of music and being blind from a very young age seemed to have enhanced RayRay’s ability. When he played, the world seemed to slow down and flow in gentle waves of serendipity and motion. In dreamlike fashion, scenes of pleasure and fun played out in the listener’s minds taking them back a few years. In fact, some who heard the music reported that they felt younger and more alive when the song ended.
Back at the café, Doris Miller, the ninety-year old woman who had driven RayRay to The Farm, said she had never felt better. She never missed a show and by the accounts of her former bridge club friends, looked younger and younger all the time. Gilroy Parrish, the owner of the Old City Java insisted that she must’ve had some work done…a facelift, or an eye-lift or something like that, but Doris denied it. She claimed it was RayRay’s music that had given her a new jolt of energy and life.
Wilmot sat across from Bekkan and Bokaj. RayRay sat on a cushion beside his father. He had boiled a second pot of tea and was sipping a cup when Bekkan started the conversation.
“What has it been, forty-six years since we sent the artifact with you, Wilmot?”
He did a little mental calculation and his eyes stared up and to the left.
“That does sound about right,” he nodded, “that was our first year at The Farm.”
“It took many meetings, heated meetings at that, to convince the rest of The Cloaks to allow you to take the artifact away from the vault in Boston. I hope you will have some news for us that will make that decision worthwhile.”
“I think I have, though it has taken some time to work out the exact nature of Matilde’s power.”
“Matilde? Oh, yes, that’s right. That’s what you have taken to calling the artifact.”
“Yes, to be honest, it helped me hide the fact that I was in possession of a magical item. If I went around saying “artifact” every time I talked about it, someone would come calling eventually.”
“True.”
“While it is evident that the power of the artifact is woven into the object we would call a violin, the real power only exists when it is played. Think of it this way. Matilde is like a flashlight and the music would be its batteries. Without the music, it wouldn’t produce any magic.”
RayRay sat in silence, wondering if it mattered if the music played was any good or not. He did his best to hide a grin picturing Charlie Daniels playing the artifact. “The Devil Went Down To Georgia” indeed.
Seemingly picking up on his thoughts, Wilmot added, “and it seems that better batteries make the light shine brighter. Better music increases the artifact’s effect.”
“And have you determined what effect it produces?”
Wilmot inhaled. He licked his lips that were drying out as they spoke.
Finally, he cleared his throat and said, “Youth.”
“Youth? I’m sorry, what exactly does that mean?” Bokaj leaned forward.
“When appropriate music is played on the artifact, the musician will cease to age for as long as he plays.”
RayRay coughed and tea shot out of his nose. Bokaj and Bekkan wore stunned expressions. Bekkan blinked and whistled through his teeth.
“So, eternal life? Immortality?”
“In a sense, yes, but only for the duration of the music. When you stop playing, the musician will begin to age at a normal rate again.”
“But you won’t age at all while you play?” Bekkan’s eyes narrowed.
“It doesn’t appear so.”
“It is a fountain of youth,” RayRay murmured.
Bekkan turned toward him, “RayRay, did you feel this effect when you played it?”
He shrugged and thought back to his most recent concert at the café. He’d only played a few not
es, but he couldn’t remember ever feeling better in his life.
“I suppose so, yes. I had no idea that it was keeping me from aging. My average set is only thirty minutes, so the effect would be negligible.”
“True,” Bokaj scratched his chin, “you might be immortal, but you’d be playing the artifact the rest of your life.”
“Would you say that the effect is stronger near the Caulla here at The Farm?” Bekkan pulled a notepad out of his billowing sleeves and began to make notes.
“Hard to say,” RayRay swallowed, “again, my practices were never more than a couple of hours. I knew it made me feel amazing…alive…refreshed. But I would not say I ever felt younger.”
He looked up and put his pencil to his lip, “so, we can rule out the artifact actually making someone younger than his or her current age?”
“I would say so.”
RayRay refrained from mentioning the effect his playing had on Doris. He couldn’t be certain, but it did seem to give her...vitality.
Bekkan scratched a few notes on his pad.
“Have you noticed any music producing a stronger effect?”
“No, I have not, but I don’t feel any of the power when I’m tuning it…or playing random notes. It feels as if it has to have a coherent piece of music to be effective.”
“Like having the right size batteries for your flashlight,” Wilmot broke in and smiled.
Bekkan sat back and looked at Bokaj, “Can you think of anything else?”
“You said you have played for non-magic users, humans, if you will?”
“Yes, I have…er, had…a standing gig at the Old City Java Café.”
“What is a gig?” Bokaj arched his eyebrow.
“A performance, or a show.”
“And how many gigs would you say you have had playing the artifact?”
RayRay did a mental calculation. It was his turn to lick his lips. “Maybe like fifty.”
“Fifty?” Bokaj interjected. Bekkan patted his shoulder to calm him.
“And at these gigs, have you noticed your music having an effect on the humans who heard you play?”
RayRay’s mind went back to Doris. Though he couldn’t see her, everyone swore she looked vital and younger than ever. He could hear the vitality in her voice get stronger every time she was around.
“I believe so, yes.”
“Hmmm,” Bekkan scribbled something on his pad and motioned for Bokaj to move out of earshot of Wilmot and RayRay. He failed to realize that RayRay’s hearing was enhanced by his blindness and he could hear every word.
“This is not good.” Bekkan whispered to Bokaj. “If the effect were limited to Incantors, I would feel safe leaving the artifact here for further study.”
“I would have to agree,” Bokaj looked over his shoulder at RayRay. “The boy is talented at playing it. Leaving it here would put him in danger of being exploited for his gift.”
“Though limited in scope, it is possible that someone using dark magic could find a way to enhance the power to achieve immortality without the need for constant music.”
“Perhaps. The artifact must return with us to the vault.”
Bekkan nodded once and they both returned to sit with RayRay and Wilmot.
“You’re taking her away,” RayRay’s voice was tight.
“How did you—” Bekkan’s eyes narrowed. “You heard us?”
“I did. And as much as it hurts me to say it, I agree. Matilde is far too powerful to leave here at The Farm.”
Bokaj smiled in approval.
“But, I wonder if I might be allowed to come with you to the vault? I may be of some assistance in studying the artifact.”
“Absolutely not, Ryuji,” Wilmot broke in. “You have your studies to continue in Knoxville.”
“But, I’m on Christmas break, father. I have three weeks before I have to go back to class.”
Wilmot opened his mouth, but Bekkan interrupted him.
“I would have to do some checking. I am not sure we have ever had anyone at the vault besides a White Cloak.”
“Then how do I become one?”
Wilmot gasped. He wasn’t sure whether to be proud or terrified that his son had asked such a question.
Bekkan studied the blind, Japanese-born, Solarian Elf for a long moment before speaking again.
“It is a long and arduous journey. We will leave that discussion for another day, but suffice to say, it could be possible.”
“And then I could come to the vault?”
“Yes.”
RayRay sipped the last of his tea and put the cup down. The room was silent for a moment. He could feel the tension in his father’s breathing wafting around him like steam from a boiling kettle.
Wilmot inhaled deeply and then yawned, “Well, I don’t know about all of you, but I for one would love to hear you play, son.”
“A wonderful idea,” Bokaj slapped his knees, “I could use some vitality.”
RayRay shrugged and picked up the case. He opened it and reached inside. Something bordering on terror splashed into his spine. He ran his hands all along the inside of the velvet-lined case. It was empty.
“There might be a small problem with that,” RayRay turned the case around to show them the empty case.
11
The Milky Way
Sami pulled into the Phillips 66 station all the way up in Mount Pleasant. It was about a twenty-minute drive, but the mini mart near The Farm didn’t have any Milky Ways and the one can of Dr. Pepper they had looked a little rusty on the bottom. She bought that to keep Mikki happy while they drove farther in search of the glorious milk chocolate covered, chocolate-malt nougat, and caramel filling that combined to become a Milky Way candy bar, also known as a Mars bar in some places around the world. Mikki, apparently a candy bar purist, did not like Mars bars.
“Mikway?” Mikki whimpered from the front seat of Sami’s red Volkswagen Beetle.
The creature was standing in the passenger’s seat, both hands gripping the dashboard and peering left and right of the highway, looking for the next gas station.
“Soon, little one,” Sami smoothed her fur on the back of her head, “now, sit down and buckle up. I don’t want you getting hurt.”
Mikki complied, though she frowned to show her discontent with the situation. But the Phillips 66 station, as run-down as it looked, with one gas pump with analog numbers that clicked up like an old-fashioned alarm clock, had an ample supply of Milky Ways and a fountain drink center with a pretty darn good Dr. Pepper too. When Sami’s hand pushed the door open, an old woman sitting behind the counter waved and smiled.
“Howdy, y’all. Two-for-one’s today on all candy and chips, so stock up before the snow hits.”
“Snow?”
“Yup, there’s a fair bit of a cold snap comin’ over the plateau. Always snows here first, ya know?”
Great, Sami thought, all the grocery stores from here to Florida will be out of bread and milk for a week. It’s not an ice age, people. But it had been that way for as long as Sami could remember. If two snowflakes managed to hit the ground before they melted, there would be a run on Wonder Bread, Charmin toilet paper, and Mayfield Milk.
“Oh, I didn’t know that.”
“Where you from, child?”
The old woman had long, stringy strands of silver hair that hung down past her shoulders like some sort of Halloween wig. Thick glasses made her eyes look huge, and she had aged past the worry over the thin mustache that darkened her upper lip. She was propped on a stool and her belly bulged out in a bright orange shirt.
A whole ‘nother world out this way, Sami thought.
“Summerton originally,” she gave her standard answer, “but I’m in school at U.T.”
The old woman almost jumped off her stool. “Woohoo! Go Vols! How you think that new coach is gonna do? I like the way he talks, aight?”
The University of Tennessee had recently hired its fifth football coach in a decade and everyone in the
state liked to debate the merits or demerits of the choice ad nauseam. Jeremy Pruitt had given a rousing speech after the school announced his hiring in which he used the word “aight” at least forty-seven times in as many minutes. The old woman pointed to a rack of orange shirts that had the word emblazoned on the front and hash-tagged into twitter immortality.
“New shirts,” she beamed, “twelve dollars a piece or two for twenty-four.”
“But that’s the same thing,” Sami tried to reason with her, “twelve times two is twenty-four.”
The woman’s massive pale blue eyes blinked behind the glasses as her mouth hung open.
“But you get two shirts for that price.”
Sami started to try explaining the math, but thought better of getting tangled in that mess and said, “Aight.”
The old woman smiled and lifted herself up off the stool and straightened her shirt. It was one of the shirts from the rack.
“They look good, don’t they?”
“Stunning,” Sami imagined everyone at school would be wearing something similar when she got back.
“Now, how are you gonna pay, sweetie?”
“Sorry? Pay?”
“For the candy bars yer cat is eatin’ over there.”
Sami turned around and looked down the candy aisle. Mikki was tearing into the king size Milky Ways. Apparently, she had started with the bags of fun size, worked up to the regular size, and was now digging into the largest size. Wrappers of every size were strewn about the aisle and she was tossing more over her shoulder as she ate.
“Oh, Mikki, no!”
Sami rushed to her and scooped her up as she shoved two more of the giant, king size bars into her mouth. She smiled through the caramel and drool slipped down her chin. She tucked the creature into her backpack and walked up to the register.
“I am so sorry,” She pulled her wallet from her bag and handed the lady her debit card. “Just charge it to this.”
“Oh, it’s okay,” the woman waved her hand in the air, “I’ve done the same thing, but with Krispy Kreme donuts. Straight out of the oven, those things are made of air. Beautiful, glazed, sugary sweet air. I hear if you eat ’em before they cool, they’re calorie-free.”
Spell Song: An Enchanting Urban Fantasy Page 8
